


A Piece of Cas

by Dragonwithatale



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crack, Food Porn, Humor, M/M, Multi, Pie Without Plot, castiel is a pie, does this count as vore?, hypothetically one could call this bottom!cas, it's a witch it's a plane maybe god did it who knows, mysterious pie hijinks, nobody is fucking the pie, they are eating him...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:27:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26995165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragonwithatale/pseuds/Dragonwithatale
Summary: Castiel is a pie.  Sam and Dean are hungry.  Warning: crackfic ahead.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 7
Kudos: 22





	A Piece of Cas

**Author's Note:**

> This is apparently what happens when I attempt to torture my friends with pictures of pie long distance. They give me plot bunnies.

“Absolutely stuffed full, aren’t you,” Sam’s voice is a purr as he steps closer, eyeing Castiel hungrily. “Can’t wait to see what you taste like, all hot and sticky on my tongue.”

Castiel says nothing; he would have shivered if he could, whether in anticipation or fear he couldn’t tell, but shivering is impossible. Because he is a pie.

He sits on the counter in the Men of Letters kitchen, steam still creeping out from his latticework, with no real memory of how exactly he got here. He doesn’t even know what kind of pie he is (fruit? Nuts? Cream?), except that apparently he smells and looks delicious, given the predatory way Sam is approaching him with a plate in one hand and a knife in the other.

Sam runs the knife edge along Castiel’s hard crust, teasing across the golden surface, brushing against the holes in his latticework. And then Sam is moving, fingers brusingly tight against his rim, holding him still as Sam thrusts down into his core in one quick motion. There’s barely a chance for Cas to adjust to the intrusion and then the knife is pumping in and out of him, bottoming out each time as Sam pulls the blade back to the edge, pressing into Cas’ rim and god he can’t take this, it’s too much. Sam pulls out and Cas has a moment to think it’s maybe over and Sam thrusts back into him, moving faster this time - Sam wants this and Cas can only hold on and try to survive the pounding of knife against tin.

Sam makes one last thrust and Cas feels something let go, and then he’s floating pleasantly above himself in Sam’s hands. Warm filling spills out onto the plate. He’s barely aware of the thick white whipping cream Sam spreads across his surface, of the pleased groans the hunter makes as he licks traces of filling from his fingers.

“Dude, that’s my pie,” Dean’s voice filters in through the haze. “You couldn’t even ask first?”

Sam’s only answer is a pleased, almost sexual moan as he takes another taste of Cas. Any hope that Cas had of mercy from Dean dies quickly; Deans fingers skim across his crust, fingernails flicking and tapping and teasing, and then his fingers dip down into the gaping mess Sam left. He’s gentle but implacable, tracing along the sensitive edge and pulling back to taste, and then a second finger is pressing into Cas’ filling. Dean crooks that finger and Cas would be seeing stars if he had eyes; he pulls out a glob of rich fruit and sweet sugar and swallows it down, both fingers sliding in and out against berry stained lips.

The knife comes out again, and it’s the same but entirely different. Cas is pierced to the core and then Dean stays there, slowly rocking in and out as he inches towards the edge, carefully taking what he wants. Filling seeps out with every movement and then with one last push Cas is floating again. Dean’s hands cup around him carefully and there’s the faintest brush of lips and teeth as Dean licks and nibbles, pleased with the mess he’s made.

Maybe they’ve had enough. Maybe Cas can rest now, let the lingering heat of the oven fade before he has to go through this again.

Sam gets up from the table and approaches the counter, and Cas’ faint hope dies as he bypasses the sink and takes hold of the knife.

“Seriously? Seconds?”

“When was the last time a pie lasted more than a few hours around us?”

“You could at least save a piece for Cas.”

Cas sits on the counter, filling spilled everywhere and crust still warm and hard, and says nothing.

He is, after all, a pie.

  
  



End file.
